


One Night at the 'Boo

by njgirl0976



Category: Original Work
Genre: Bad Decisions, Dirty Dancing, Drunken Flirting, F/M, Unrequited Lust
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-09
Updated: 2016-11-09
Packaged: 2018-08-29 23:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8510425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njgirl0976/pseuds/njgirl0976
Summary: A drunken, sweaty night at a Jersey Shore bar isn't conducive to good decision making.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another original work originally published under my pseudonym.

Even dressed in my most neck-plunging top ( _wow, going with the red lace bra tonight,_ you commented earlier) and tightest jeans, there was no turning Baby Boy Carter’s head. No matter how much I wiggle or how much I drink, I’m the last thing on Baby Boy Carter’s mind. 

The sting of his rejection is digging a deep trench in my ego until I notice you looking my way. The desire is frank, the lust an open secret to be teased about (you teased by me, of course). Your cool hazel eyes rove over me, stopping here and there to admire. I roll my hips salaciously, knowing full-well your eyes will cross trying to watch them move. I catch your eye again and we smile at each other from across the bar; your smile is one of unslaked need, mine is one of teasing laughter. 

You want me, we all know it, but I don’t want you. I want Baby Boy Carter; blonde, 21 year old Baby Boy Carter, who’ve I panted after since he was 16. But here you are, week after week, night after night, saving me from myself, holding me when I cry, stroking my back, telling me he’s a fool to not want me. Tonight I hold your gaze and dance just for you, dance for your attention, for your adulation, for my ego, for my need to be wanted. 

I decide to want you. I decide to show you my best because I decide that tonight I’ll go to bed with you. I’ve had just enough Malibu that all of this sounds like a really awesome idea. Next to me, Big Red is working her jeans for every undulation they can handle. Your eyes waver, from me to her, with her crazy curly red hair and gravity-defying rack. 

NO! Back to me! I scream internally, willing you to look back at me, to watch me, to want me again. 

There it is. That look again. That look that makes my hips turn to you no matter what the rest of my body is doing. It’s like the entire area below my waist is telling me something my brain doesn’t want to hear because my stupid brain is filled with Baby Boy Carter and those Cupid’s bow lips of his. I peek a glance at Big Red. She’s pretending not to look at you as she looks at you. Not tonight, Big Red, you’ve had your chance. 

I jump off the stage and push my way through the sweaty dance floor crowd to where you’re holding up the bar, playing Bodyguard and Conscience for us girls. A half dozen, half drunk drinks are scattered in front of you. Your hand rests on a black clutch. 

_Nice purse,_ I tease you. 

_Really?_ you ask. _I think it clashes with my shoes._

_Don’t go anywhere,_ I add, trailing my fingers over your arm and pressing my breasts unnecessarily against your back as I squeeze past you to get to the bathroom. 

I have this over-whelming need to check my make-up, even though I plan on sweating it off all over your bed in a little bit. The bathroom is filled with drunk, sweaty, horny, crying girls who refuse to give up their places at the mirror for little old me. I push and prod girls out of the way. Yikes, my mascara’s giving me massive raccoon eyes. I fix them quickly and pee, so I won’t have to once we get back to your house. 

Emerging from the bathroom, I head over to your spot at the bar. You’re not there. I crane my neck like a meerkat, scanning the bar for you. You’re definitely gone. Fuck. Then I notice that a 5’8” giantess with huge tits and red hair is missing from our place on the stage. 

No. No. It’s not possible. Did you miss my signs? Did you give up fucking me until we both faint so you could jump on the Big Red Express, a tired old ride that everyone in the bar’s had at least twice? 

Well, fuck you then. You don’t deserve me either. I jump back on the bar as Mel C.’s _I Turn to You_ comes on full blast. No, I don’t: I don’t turn to you. I turn to nobody. 

Baby Boy Carter looks my way, his green eyes rake over me carelessly and he smirks, jerking his head to the outside bar. I leap off the stage and run over to him. Okay, maybe I turn to him. He slings an arm around me possessively, claiming me for the night. 

You missed your chance, Bodyguard.


End file.
